As The Dust Settles
by BlueNeutrino
Summary: In 2091, a spaceship leaves Earth on an exploratory mission; on board is a certain vampire with the assumed name of John Hart. But with mystery and deception surrounding the entire mission, there could be danger ahead for not just the crew, but the entire human race. Multi crossover with some elements of Torchwood and AvP, but you don't need to have seen those to understand this.
1. Prologue

_**As The Dust Settles**_

**A/N: I went to see Prometheus at the cinema the other day, and I've got to say I found it a little disappointing. It raised way more questions about Alien than it answered, but on the plus side, it sparked a few ideas for fanfic (partly stemming from the need to right everything that was scientifically wrong with it) and partly because I've been wanting to write a sort of space-age Spike fic for a while now about how he goes travelling across the universe and takes on the identity of Captain John Hart from Torchwood. Because the way I saw it, that character was way too much like Spike for James Marsters not to be playing it with Spike in mind. So, this is the result of all those ideas. It's not comic book compatible, so is AU post _Not Fade Away, _but I hope you like it!**

**Disclaimer: Joss Whedon owns the Buffy stuff, Ridley Scott and James Cameron own whatever Prometheus/Alien/Predator stuff comes up in this, and Russell T Davies owns the tiny bits of Doctor Who/Torchwood I may mention.**

_**Prologue**_

_The world has changed greatly in the seventy years since Buffy Summers' death. Technology has advanced rapidly. Mystical doctors have effectively blended magic and science, finding ways to make vampires resilient to sunlight and allowing their hearts to beat again. Spacecraft capable of deep space travel have become available, and mankind is reaching for the stars. _

_But for the one time friends of the Slayer, not all is well. Angel has fallen into a pit of depression following the deaths of all those he once cared about, and has long since lost the faith he had in the world that allowed him to keep fighting. Spike, seeking a fresh start, signs up to an exploratory space crew heading for a mysterious planet in the depths of the galaxy, knowing little about the nature of the mission but desperate to escape the demons that haunt him on Earth. But on board the ship, not all is as it seems. Stolen identities, suspicious activity by certain crew members, and the mystery as to the true motives of the company financing the mission could spell out danger for all on board…_


	2. The Visitor

**Chapter One – The Visitor**

_Obama Nursing Home For the Elderly  
Los Angeles  
July 2091_

The sun beat down on the bleached paving slabs of the patio, creeping its way over the ground towards the red brick walls of the building nearby. Before it could reach them it was cut off, the brim of a parasol blocking out most of the intensity of the light before it hit the ground. In the shade, an elderly woman was sat on a garden chair with her eyes closed and her chin resting on her chest, apparently snoozing. She looked completely at peace, but her moment of rest was soon to be disturbed by a young nurse approaching her, kneeling down beside the chair and gently patting her arm.

"Mrs Reilly?" the nurse said softly, "Dawn? There's someone here to see you."

The old lady slowly blinked her eyes open and turned her head to face the nurse, taking some time to work out where she was. She'd been dreaming about her sister, something she hadn't dreamt of in quite some time. The pair of them had been young in the dream, and they were in Italy, fighting some vampires on the streets of Rome. But as Dawn gradually came to she remembered that her sister was long dead and she wasn't even close to young anymore.

The nurse continued speaking. "You have a visitor, Dawn. Says his name's William."

Dawn frowned at her slightly in confusion, preparing to say, "But I don't know a William," but then her eyes fell on the figure standing just a few paces behind the nurse and for a moment she wondered if she was dreaming again.

He didn't look any different from the last time she'd seen him. Well, that wasn't quite true. His hair wasn't quite such a severe shade of platinum anymore, and there was some light brown beginning to show at the roots. He'd also stopped using so much product on it, instead allowing some of the natural waves to grow out and give it a tousled look. The black leather duster had been traded in for a decidedly retro brown leather jacket, but aside from that he didn't look a day older. His ice blue eyes were just as keen as ever, and as they made contact with hers a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Hello, little bit."

Following that there was a moment's silence. Dawn didn't respond directly, instead just continued to stare at him in shock, her gaze not at all welcoming. She turned back to the nurse for a moment, "Rebecca, could you give us a moment alone please?"

"Of course, Mrs Reilly," the nurse responded, and then stood up and left.

Dawn turned her attention back to Spike, whose smile was faltering as he realised she wasn't at all pleased to see him. "You've got some nerve showing up here," she said coldly.

He looked at her a little indignantly, and then threw his hands up in a pacifying gesture. "Hey, before you start giving me the lecture about how it's been twenty years since I last saw you, and I can't just show up out of the blue like this, at least give me chance to explain why I'm here."

She continued to give him a hard stare. "Right. Explain. Quickly."

"Well, there's things happening, Dawn. Everything's going to change soon and I thought I ought to see you before…"

He hesitated for a moment at the end of that sentence, giving Dawn chance to interject. "Before I kick the bucket?" she said bitterly, her voice hoarse.

"No!" Spike quickly responded, and then let out a frustrated sigh. "No, love. That's not what I meant."

"Then what?" Dawn snapped, wanting him to get to the point, but the impact of her anger was weakened by the faintness of her voice.

Spike sighed again, looking immensely awkward and like he was struggling to work out what to say. In the end, he just spat it out in the plainest way possible. "I'm leaving, love. There's a spaceship heading out to the far side of the galaxy in a few days and I'm gonna be on it."

Dawn's cold expression didn't change. "Why did you feel the need to tell me this?"

Spike scowled at her, growing increasingly frustrated that she wasn't being as understanding as he'd hoped. "Well, this is my last chance, in't it? You know how this space travel thing works; I'll be gone at least fifteen years. By the time I'm back… well, I just thought I should say goodbye."

There was a moment's silence, before Dawn said bluntly, "You're twenty years too late, Spike."

He glanced down at the floor. "I know, love," he said sadly, before pulling up one of the other garden chairs and sitting down in it. "I didn't mean for…" he began, but Dawn spoke over him.

"I wouldn't have cared, you know," she said, "I've gone twenty years without seeing you. If I died without that changing I wouldn't have regretted it."

He looked up at her, a somewhat hurt expression on his face. "Fine," he said harshly, "If that's the way you feel then I'm sorry I bothered coming. I guess I'll just go and you can forget I was ever here." He got up again and began to storm off, but Dawn called after him.

"Spike, wait."

He paused and looked back at her.

"You're here now; it's too late to change that. Let's not end things like this. Not again."

A slight smirk played on his lips. "Knew you were secretly pleased to see me, little bit," he said as he turned back round and sat down again.

Dawn sighed and shook her head. "Just say what you wanted to say, Spike."

Not speaking immediately, he reached into his jacket and took out a lighter and a cigarette. He placed the cigarette between his lips and lit it, inhaling deeply as he psyched himself up to talk to her. "I know I should've been around more, pet," he said after blowing out a stream of smoke. "After Buffy… after she died, and then Willow and Xander and everyone else. You ended up being the only one left and I wasn't here for you. Guess I messed up royally with that."

Dawn's eyes narrowed. "Yes, you did."

He glanced at the floor again. "Well, this is me saying sorry for it. I promised Buffy I'd look after you and I didn't. So… sorry," he finished awkwardly.

There was another pause before Dawn responded. When she did so, her voice was forcedly calm. "Spike, have you any idea what's happened in the past twenty years? I got cancer fifteen years ago; it took me six years to recover from it. I've had two hip replacements. My arthritis has gotten so bad I can barely hold things and I need a stick to walk. By the time it's my next birthday I'll be eighteen years past the average life expectancy. Maybe my mind's stayed sharp, but the rest of me is falling to pieces. I reckon I've got two years left to live at best. Do you think that you saying sorry makes any of that any better?"

He looked suitably ashamed for a moment longer, and then shrugged helplessly. "Maybe not, but if this is the last time I'm going to see you then I'd rather have said it and it mean nothing than not say it at all."

She just stared at him, and then gave a small shake of her head. "Oh, Spike…" Her anger seemed to have faded now, but she looked like she was going to cry.

He took another drag on the cigarette, unsure how to respond to that. "I mean it, love. And I am sorry. It's just that if I'm gonna be leaving soon I wanted things to be alright between us. So… are they?"

Dawn shook her head sadly. "No, Spike, they aren't. But I can pretend they are. I've not got much of my life left, and I don't want to spend it being bitter."

Not wanting to risk saying the wrong thing, Spike just muttered, "Alright" and took a drag on the cigarette again.

There was an awkward moment of silence between them, and then Dawn sighed and tried to resume the conversation. "Well, at least you showed up at all. It's been even longer since I've seen Angel."

Relieved that at last her hostility seemed to be fading, Spike nodded, "Don't think Angel's left the sewers or the alleys in decades. He seems to have pretty much given up on everything, although I can't say I blame him. There's nothing left for him in this world, and pretty soon there won't be anything left for me either. That's why I'm leaving."

"What about Drusilla?" Dawn asked, ignoring his self-pitying tone.

He answered her miserably. "Drusilla doesn't want anything more to do with me."

"Oh…" she responded, thinking that probably made sense after what he'd done to her over Buffy, but then the conversation fizzled out into silence again. After another awkward moment in which neither of them spoke, Dawn tried to get them to resume talking. "Spike?"

"Yes?"

"It's daylight and you're not on fire," she said curiously.

Grateful for the change of subject, he gave her a small smile. "I know. Good, in't it?" he said, putting out a hand and moving it around in the sunlight. "Found myself a demon doctor; he gave me a shot of something and now if you stick me out in the sunlight instead of chargrilling I get a nice tan."

Dawn returned his smile, finding that despite everything she was actually glad to see him. "I'm not so sure about the tan part," she commented. "You still look pretty pale to me.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it's good enough. I can pretty much pass for human now. I've got a pulse and everything."

"How did you manage that?" she asked, finally relaxing a little and enjoying talking to him.

He tapped the back of his head. "New chip. Apparently that's the bit of the brain that controls the circulatory system, stick a chip in there and now I've got a heartbeat again. I guess it's kinda ironic, considering how much trouble it was to get rid of the last chip, but it has its uses."

"I suppose you'll be needing it," Dawn said, "If you're going on board a spaceship. They probably wouldn't react well to finding out they had a vampire on board."

"No, probably not," he agreed, exhaling another stream of smoke.

At that point, another question occurred to Dawn. "How did you get onto a space crew, anyway?" she asked. "Don't you normally have to go through years of training for that sort of thing? Or get invited?"

His smile faltered. "Sometimes fate just throws things your way, pet. Guess that's what happened to me."

Not satisfied with that answer, Dawn pressed him harder. "In what way, exactly?"

"Probably best you don't ask that, love."

He was being evasive, and Dawn didn't like that. What did he have to hide? "Did you kill someone for it?" she challenged.

He looked at her sombrely. "Like I said, it's probably best you don't ask."

She could tell he wasn't going to tell her. And actually, he was right: she didn't want to know. If he had done something bad to get onto that ship, then she didn't want to spend what remained of her life feeling morally obliged to despise him for it. Instead, she tried changing the subject again. "What's the voyage for then? Taking a trip to Mars?"

He shook his head, seeming mildly amused by the suggestion. "No. Do you remember the _Prometheus _mission that made the news a few years ago?" Dawn nodded and he continued. "Well, it's meant to be a follow up mission to that."

That was all he said, and Dawn prompted him to elaborate. "Which is what, exactly?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Not had the full briefing yet. To be honest, I don't much care what we're doing or where that's ship's going, just as long as it goes."

Following that sentence there was another pause, before Dawn said, "You really are desperate to leave this planet, aren't you?" The sadness she'd felt earlier seemed to be returning, and Spike nodded as he dropped the burnt out cigarette to the floor and ground the stub under his boot.

"I can't stay here, love. I don't want to turn out like Angel. I just need to get out of this place before I go crazy."

Dawn looked at him, and there seemed to be a moment of shared understanding between them. "Well, it's alright for you if you have the luxury of leaving," she said, although her tone was accepting, not bitter. "Whereas I have no choice but to stay here and die. So if this is goodbye, perhaps we both ought to just get on and say it. Maybe that would be easier."

Realising that perhaps she was right, Spike gave a melancholy nod. "Alright then," he muttered quietly.

"Goodbye, Spike," Dawn said simply, her eyes once again moist.

He studied her silently for a moment before getting to his feet and saying just as simply, "Goodbye, Dawn."

For a few moments longer they just stared at each other awkwardly, and Spike wondered if he should just leave. That was it; it was time for him to go. Except he couldn't. This was the last time he'd ever see her, he realised. Could he really just leave it like this? After he'd failed her so badly, could he really just walk away from one of the few people in the world he'd ever cared about so abruptly?

Deciding that he couldn't, he took a step closer to her and leant in to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. With one hand he reached up to push her long silver hair out of her face, and felt the cool moisture of a tear trickle down her cheek. "Bye, little bit," he whispered softly in her ear, and then stepped back and turned away from her, walking away without looking back.


	3. Heracles

**A/N: Thanks go to Teres for her review, and also to biomechanical for her review and for the extra info she provided me with. For this chapter, I've done a bit of number crunching with special relativity to work out if Prometheus could feasibly travel 34.6 lightyears in two years proper time, but it turns out there's just no way to get it to work. For the ship to travel that distance from Earth and just two years pass in its own reference frame, it would have to be travelling at 99.7% the speed of light, which is absurd. This leaves me with the dichotomy of whether to break canon, or to break the laws of physics. Honestly, I'm loathe to do either, so for the parts where I change anything I'll make sure to add in a scientific note at the end of the chapter to explain why and how it works.**

_**Chapter Two – Heracles**_

The engine revved as the automated shuttle bike drove on through the concourse, transporting its two passengers from one end of the Weyland spacecraft terminal to the dock where the _Heracles _waited to take off. Spike had found himself in the front seat, whereas in the back was sat another of the crew members – a German whose ID badge named him as Dr Friedrich Tretter – who hadn't shut up from the moment he and Spike had met at the entrance. It would only take them a few minutes to travel the two miles across the concourse, but it felt like much longer as the German continued on and on complaining about how all his research funding had been cut this past year or whatever other grievances he had.

"I mean, it vas vithout varning, you know? I had already invested eight tousand dollars on de project, and den out of novhere dey tell me dey von't fund it anymore! If it veren't for Veyland Corp inviting me here all dat research vould have been vasted…"

Continuing to look ahead so Tretter wouldn't notice, Spike gritted his teeth in irritation. The constant whining delivered in a thick German accent was really beginning to grate on him, and he wished that the bike would go faster so he could get away from the annoying sod as soon as possible. He half considered turning round and telling Tretter in no uncertain terms to put a sock in it, but decided against it. If the scientist was continually complaining about his own problems then at least he wasn't stopping to ask Spike about his own history, which as far as Spike was concerned was just fine. He was prepared to bluff and lie his way through this mission if that was needed, but he wasn't about to invite people to ask questions that might lead to them realising he wasn't who it said on his ID card.

Tuning out the constant drone of Tretter's voice, Spike instead concentrated on the various other spacecraft they were passing as they drove through the facility. There were about a couple dozen of them, each of them parked in its own docking area either being serviced or just waiting for when it would next be in use. Most of them were fairly small – just moon shuttles or solar system cruisers not designed for deep space travel – but there were a handful of larger ones intended to transport terraforming equipment across the galaxy. Terraforming technologies were still a fairly recent development, but the Weyland Corporation was definitely at the forefront of the industry. It was the company behind the successful terraforming of Mars and the moon a decade or so ago, as well as having three extra-solar planets now successfully terraformed and colonized and several others still in the process of atmospheric and gravity conversion. The ships designed to carry the equipment for such tasks were huge – they'd passed about three of them on the journey so far; square metal giants that looked industrial and uninviting – not the kind of place Spike much fancied spending however-many-years of space travel on board. He found himself wondering what the _Heracles _would be like. Presumably, it was a similar model to the _Prometheus, _which he'd seen brief news coverage of when it left Earth four years ago, but that didn't give him a much clearer picture of just how big it was or what it was like inside.

It wasn't long, however, before he would find out. The bike rounded a corner around one of the terraforming vessels, turning them onto a straight strip where about two hundred metres away was the last ship stationed at the port. It was large; not quite as big as some of the industrial ships he'd seen, but much more aesthetic and fitted with antimatter drive engines that looked far more modern and powerful than on any of the other models in the terminal. Despite that, Spike could tell from the shape of it that it wasn't designed for haulage – it was a passenger ship, and judging by the open loading bay it was waiting to be boarded. _That must be it then, _Spike thought, _my ride out of here. _

Within a minute the bike had arrived at the ship and driven up the boarding ramp, before coming to a stop in the loading bay. Tretter – infuriatingly – was still talking, now rambling on about something to do with spaceships. Having long decided that anything the German had to say was probably of no relevance, Spike just ignored him and clambered off of the bike as it came to a standstill, carrying with him the duffel bag that contained among other things his blood supplies for the journey. There was a door towards the back of the loading bay, and assuming that it must lead to the upper decks Spike began to walk towards it. Tretter, apparently taken aback at how abruptly his travel partner had just walked off, paused talking for a moment as he got off the bike and jogged to catch up with Spike, before resuming his monologue.

"Do you vonder how many odders are on de crew? Dis is quite a large ship; I tink it has five decks, vhich is a little smaller dan de ship I visited Mars on but dere were about tventy people on dat expedition. I tink dere might be…"

Wondering if he was ever going to be rid of this guy, Spike thought now might be the time to put a stop to the German's incessant rambling. He suddenly rounded on Tretter with a glare fierce enough to get the scientist to momentarily go quiet, but before he could follow it up with something to the effect of, "Will you just shut the hell up?" he was interrupted by the sound of someone else talking.

"Dr Tretter. Dr Hart."

His reprimand cut short, Spike turned to look back towards the door, through which a young woman with short black hair had just entered and was now approaching the pair of them. As she got closer Spike began to pick up her scent. There was something strangely off about it, he noticed, but didn't have chance to work out exactly what it was before she'd stopped in front of them and was addressing them again.

"Welcome aboard the _Heracles. _My name is Alice. I work for Yutani Industries, who are jointly financing this expedition with the Weyland Corporation," she said in the manner of someone giving a rehearsed speech, and then turned to Spike and glanced down at the ID badge he was wearing. Spike new full well what blatant lie she was reading there – _'Dr John Hart, paleoarcheologist' – _and hoped she wouldn't ask him anything about it. He was beginning to wonder if he'd underestimated how easy it would be to pass himself off as someone else.

The woman looked back up at his face again and then said in the same flat tone is before, "Dr Hart, I heard about what happened to your last research project."

_Oh yes, that, _Spike thought, _that whole mess was the reason I managed to end up here in the first place. _"Yeah, that was…," he began to say out loud, unsure as to how the real John Hart would have reacted to that. Eventually, he concluded rather lamely with, "Unfortunate." Then thinking that the woman might expect him to be more upset, he added awkwardly, "I was devastated."

If she found anything unusual about his response she didn't show it, but instead said emotionlessly, "You have my sympathies," before turning to look back at Tretter. Inwardly, Spike felt a rush of relief that that was all she was going to say on the matter. There were some things regarding that incident that would be difficult to explain.

Alice raised her hands and held each of them out to Spike and Tretter so they could see what she was holding. Spike looked down at it, seeing that it was a small rectangular piece of glass, and then reached out to take out the offered item at the same time as Tretter did. "These holocards contain additional information about the layout of the ship and the access codes to your rooms," Alice explained, "The crew quarters are situated on the fourth and fifth deck. As you are the last two crew members to arrive you will have ninety minutes to unpack your belongings, before changing into the clothing provided and reporting to the cryosleep chamber. The ship will take off in an hour and cryosleep will be initiated twenty minutes after exiting the atmosphere ."

Spike looked down at the holocard and tapped the pressure point on the side to activate the display. The first thing to appear on the screen was indeed his name and room number – _Dr John Hart, Cabin 8A, Deck 5. _Satisfied that the card was working, he looked up at Alice again, realising there was something she hadn't told them. "So when do we get to find out what all this is about? Or are you just gonna keep us in the dark for the entire trip?"

"The briefing will occur once we have arrived at our destination," Alice replied simply, and Spike frowned at her.

"Once we've arrived? I'm no expert love, but that seems like an odd time to do it."

Alice didn't react to the derision in his tone, but instead answered with, "The human brain is more likely to lose important information during extended periods of cryosleep. If the briefing is given after waking it is more likely that the crew will remember all the important details."

That didn't sound like much of a justification to Spike, but he realised he didn't care that much. As long as the ship was leaving it didn't matter to him where or why, but Tretter, it seemed, wanted to know more.

"Is dis to do vid de discovery of alien lifeforms?" the German asked, "Because dat is de project I vas vorking on ven Veyland asked me to come here. Dey must have tought it vas vorth supporting even ven Gottingen didn't, so I presume dat is vhat you are searching for. I have found evidence dat dere is a planet in de Gleise 86 system dat may be capable of supporting life, so can you confirm if dat is vhere ve shall be going?"

_He never uses one word when ten will do, does he? _Spike thought, but Tretter's excessive loquaciousness didn't seem to bother Alice. "Your questions shall be answered in the briefing," she answered dismissively.

"And there isn't anything you think we ought to know before we set off?" Spike said, but again she refused to answer.

"The briefing will be after cryosleep and you will be provided with all relevant information then," she reiterated.

"For how long vill de period of cryosleep last?" Tretter asked, before his inability to keep things brief caused him to add, "Because under Einstein's teory of special relativity dere vill be a discrepancy between de time on board de ship and de time as viewed from Earth, so I vas told dat de time on Earth vould be around seven years?"

"Cryosleep will last for approximately two years proper time, eight years as measured from Earth," Alice answered, "If you have any further questions please refer to your holocards." She seemed to be attempting to end the conversation now, but Spike wasn't quite ready to let her finish. He didn't much care what the nature of the expedition was, but he was curious as to why she seemed so reluctant to tell them anything.

"Eight years is a pretty large portion of our lives to ask us to sign over, love," he said, "So can't you at least tell us where we're going?"

Alice fixed her gaze on him. She didn't exactly seem irritated, but when she answered her tone was still cool. "You have already signed the contract, Dr Hart. If you had any questions you should have asked them then."

Again, Spike found himself wondering why she was being so evasive, but as he concentrated on her scent again he thought he was beginning to pick out what was wrong with it. "After what happened and the kind of money you were offering, who wouldn't have signed that contract?" he asked, not really expecting much of an explanation but deciding to say it anyway.

Alice continued to levelly hold his gaze, and even he had to admit it was slightly creepy the way she wasn't blinking. "I am sorry for what happened to your project, Dr Hart, and it is unfortunate if that is the only reason you chose to sign the contract, but I cannot provide you with any more information at this point in time. Take off will be in fifty-eight minutes," she said finally, turning to walk back towards the door before either of them had chance to ask any further questions.

Spike stared after her for a few moments, allowing himself a slight smirk as he became satisfied that he'd worked out the reason for her odd scent, but still intrigued as to what it was she was hiding. Deciding there was nothing he could do to find out right now, he pocketed the holocard and picked up his duffel bag, preparing to go and find his cabin, but Tretter was already talking again.

"So, vhat happened to your research project?" he asked, for the first time thinking to say something that wasn't in some way about him.

Spike turned to look at him, thinking how long the German had gone on about his own problems, and then said bluntly, "It got blown up."

Tretter just stared at him in stunned silence for a moment, which Spike took full advantage of to walk away before he started talking again. That wasn't even a lie. John Hart's last research project had indeed gotten blown up, but what Spike wasn't about to tell anyone was that John Hart had been blown up with it.

**A/N: I know there's a lot of stuff this chapter that doesn't make sense yet, but an explanation will be coming. It won't all be in one go, as I want to keep you guessing a bit longer, but I do have an explanation as to how Spike got a fake identity to get on board the **_**Heracles, **_**and I have a few ideas as to how "Dr" John Hart eventually becomes "Captain", but that won't be until a bit further down the line. If anyone was wondering about the name of the ship, in Greek mythology Heracles was the one who went to rescue Prometheus from where he was chained to the rock, so I thought that would be appropriate.**

**Scientific notes: It isn't actually in any way possible for a ship to travel 35 lightyears in anything less than 35 years, and it would be highly unrealistic for it to go that far in less than 100 years Earth time or fifty years proper time. However, adhering to that completely screws over Alien chronology, so I've arbitrarily set it at eight years Earth time and two years proper time for a one way trip. Next chapter I'll explain the fudge factors I've introduced into the science and engineering of the ship to try and account for that.**


	4. She, Robot

**A/N: I did intend on trying some freeze dried food before writing this chapter, so I have more of an idea of what Spike's freeze dried blood would be like. (I mean, I plan on eating freeze dried ice-cream, not blood, obviously, but the textures would probably be similar.) The problem is though I tried ordering some over the internet and it still hasn't arrived, so I've just written this imagining what it would be like and I'll probably change it once I find out for real.**

**Chapter Three – She, Robot**

Spike found his room quickly enough. There'd been an elevator through the door leading to the decks, but Spike had taken the stairs, hoping that Tretter would be more likely to take the easier option. As it turned out, it seemed he had at last managed to get rid of the annoying German and had now arrived at his cabin without encountering anyone else. Checking the holocard for the keycode, he punched the four number combination into the pad by the door and waited for it to open before stepping through.

Once inside, he paused a moment to have a brief glance round. The cabin was a fairly decent size: not incredibly spacious, but comfortable enough. There was a narrow bed tucked away in one corner, and on the other side of the room there was a chest of drawers alongside a cupboard and a small closet fitted into the wall. Spike also noticed another sliding door which he assumed led to the bathroom. It seemed fairly basic, but after some of the things he'd heard about spacecraft accommodation he'd been expecting much worse.

He crossed to the bed and looked down at the folded clothes that had been placed on top of it – there was a crew uniform, a bathrobe, and some cloth underwear, which he presumed was for cryosleep. That must be what Alice had instructed them to get changed into. Well, it could wait. It wasn't like take off was all that soon, and he had things to do first. Spike set down the duffel bag on the bed and unzipped it, before rummaging through the scarce amount of clothes he'd packed inside and taking out a chrome case with a code combination lock. He carried the case over to the chest of drawers and placed it on top of them as he turned to dials to open it. With a clicking sound the lock sprang open, and Spike lifted the lid to reveal the dozens of foil packets stored inside. Blood; about a year's supply of it, all freeze dried. He grimaced at the thought of what it would taste like, but he knew this was the only way of transporting it without it going off. Even if there were some better cryofreezing facilities in the ship's kitchen, he couldn't exactly keep packets of blood in there where anyone could find them.

Thinking it was probably a good idea to eat something now before takeoff, he ripped open one of the packets and looked at the brownish, powdered substance inside. How was he supposed to eat it? He'd never actually tried the stuff before, but it didn't exactly look appetising. He wondered if adding water would help, but then remembered he didn't have a mug or anything to put it in. Deciding to just try it as it was, he put the open packet to his mouth and tossed it back. A moment later, a mouthful of the stuff was spat back out as Spike let out an exclamation of, "Bloody hell!"

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Spike stared in distaste at what remained in the packet. It tasted bitter and sterile, and the texture was like sand slowly turning to globules of jelly in his mouth. So this was what he'd resigned himself to eating for the next year or so. Well, wasn't that just bloody peachy.

Tossing the open packet back into the case, Spike crossed back over to the bed and sat down on it, heaving a sigh of frustration. Not for the first time he was beginning to feel doubts about what he was doing here. Not so much about what he was leaving behind, but more about what he would be going back to when, eventually, this mission finally drew to a close. Fifteen years, he'd been told it would take on Earth. What would have changed by then? Dawn would be dead for sure, that much he'd accepted, but who else would still be there? Dru would be around, he knew, but she'd moved on from him decades ago. She'd probably neither know nor care that he was even gone.

And Angel… well, the way things were going, Spike wouldn't be surprised if he came back to find Angel was a pile of dust. Ever since signing over his claim to the Shanshu prophecy and watching everyone he cared about die around him, Angel seemed to have given up completely. Sacrificing everything he had in the fight against Wolfram and Hart only to lose anyway had been more than Angel could take, and he'd descended into a state worse than his post-soul, pre-Buffy days. If he ended up either running into sunlight or getting himself staked then Spike wouldn't be surprised.

Then there was Illyria. She'd still be there, Spike knew, but he didn't much want her to be. She was one of the many things he wanted to get away from.

Really, what he wanted was to not go back to Earth at all. He was half hoping that, since Weyland was a terraforming company, the ship would call at an extra-solar colony on the return journey and he could just get off and stay there. But he knew that wasn't likely. This would be a short reprieve, but he was going to have to face up to things back on Earth eventually. He just hoped that by that time, enough would have changed for it to seem like fresh start.

Not wanting to dwell too much on things, Spike took a pack of cigarettes out of his bag and stood up again, trying to keep himself distracted. He crossed back over to the case lying on top of the chest of drawers, thinking that maybe the dried blood wouldn't be so bad if he could drown out the taste with smoke. Lighting one of the cigarettes, he took a long drag on it before picking up the packet of blood again, thinking he ought to at least try eating something before he was consigned to a cryosleep pod for two years. He was just about to put the foil sachet to his mouth again when there was the faint hiss of hydraulics as the door to the room slid open.

Throwing the packet back into the case and slamming the lid shut, Spike spun round to see the petite figure of Alice standing in the doorway. "Don't you bloody knock?" he snapped, angry that she'd just walked in on him like this and worried she might be about to ask him what he was doing.

She gave him neither much of a reaction nor much of an answer. "I am performing the final checks to ensure all is well with the ship and the crew before take off," she stated emotionlessly.

Spike glared at her in irritation, but felt a wave of relief that she didn't seem about to ask him what was in the box. "I'm fine, if that's what you're checking," he replied, before nodding at the door, "And wasn't that locked?"

"I have the access codes to all doors on board the ship."

He scowled at her. "Well, you could at least check the person on the other side bloody knows you're there before opening them."

She didn't respond to that, instead just stated, "I must inform you, Dr Hart, that smoking is not permitted on board the ship," as she looked down at the cigarette in his hand.

Everything she was saying just irritated him more. "What's it to you, love? You're a robot; it's not like you're breathing it."

There was a pause then as she processed what he just said, and then she spoke in the same emotionless tone as before, "I have not disclosed to any of the crew members that I am an android."

"You didn't have to, love. You stink of hydraulic fluid."

If it were possible for a robot to look puzzled, Spike suspected that might be what he'd be seeing now on Alice's face. "The human nose is not normally capable of detecting such scents," she said flatly.

He shrugged. It wasn't like he could tell her the real reason he could smell it, but he thought he had enough of an excuse. "You're not the first robot I've spent time around. Guess I've got used to picking up the smell."

Again, that sense of would-be puzzlement from the android seemed to be growing. "That is curious, Dr Hart," Alice said, "As I am one of the earlier prototype models built by the Weyland Corporation. Where is it you have encountered androids before?"

_Oh. _He hadn't realised that about the prototypes, and began to wonder if it might have been a mistake to bring up the robot thing at all. He couldn't exactly tell her that he'd first encountered robots over ninety years ago. "Friend of mine," he said vaguely, "Used to do a bit of programming with them and stuff."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but it seemed enough to satisfy Alice. "I would appreciate it if you did not mention this to any of the other crew members until after the briefing," was all she said in response.

Spike wasn't sure what the reasons for that would be, but was pretty certain that if he asked he wouldn't get an answer. "Yeah, fine," he said, wanting to be left alone, but then realised there was actually something else she'd mentioned that he wanted to ask about. "So Weyland built you? I thought you said you worked for Yutani?"

"The Weyland Corporation designed my hardware, which was then sold to Yutani Industries for software development," she explained.

That was enough of an explanation for him, and Spike didn't much care to know more. "Right," he said, taking another drag on the cigarette, "Are we done now?"

She watched him intently as he blew out a stream of smoke, and Spike wondered if that was the robot equivalent of a glare. "Please refrain from smoking on board the ship, Dr Hart," she repeated. "I will know if you don't. The smoke may compromise our life supports systems or activate the alarms in the cabins, which could lead to a problematic and unnecessary evacuation procedure."

He continued to stare at her for a moment longer, and then deciding that such a scenario would be more trouble than it was worth, stubbed out the end of the cigarette on the top of the chest of drawers.

She watched the action, seemingly uncaring that he was damaging the ship's furniture, and then resumed talking in her cold, robotic fashion. "Thank you. May I remind you that all personnel are required to report to the cryosleep chamber in sixty minutes time," she said, and then retreated out of the doorway without another word.

Spike watched the door slide shut behind her and waited a few more moments, before snatching up the pack of cigarettes again and shoving it in his pocket. He'd pretty much abandoned the notion of eating any of the gritty blood goop, but he needed a smoke. "Yeah, whatever. There's got to be somewhere on this bloody ship that doesn't have smoke detectors," he muttered, before heading off out of the door again in search of such a place.

**Updated A/N 04/07/12: I tried some freeze dried ice cream! It's actually not bad. The taste is alright, but the texture is quite crunchy. I still imagine that, to a vampire, freeze dried blood wouldn't taste good. The freeze drying process would probably mess up the cell structure and stuff so that it tastes odd, and I do think it would be a bit like gritty goop. The ice cream had a texture of crunchy that got increasingly gooey the longer it was in my mouth, so I reckon if you had powdered blood it would be the same. Is it weird that I'm trying to figure out what freeze dried blood would taste like?**


	5. Paranoid Cosmo Girl

**A/N: The character of Dominie Nova introduced in this chapter also features in my Doctor Who story **_**White Pills, **_**but this story takes place before that one and each story can be read independently, so there's no need for anyone to read both, but I thought I'd make people aware it's the same character.**

**Chapter Four – Paranoid Cosmo Girl**

He'd ended up in the engine room. Not because he thought there wouldn't necessarily be any smoke detectors here, but because he figured that with all the extraction fans and vents around the machinery it might help him hide the smell from Alice. It also had the added bonus of being the place where he was least likely to run into anyone else on the crew, and it was probably the last place Alice would check before take-off. That would at least give him chance to have a cigarette in peace.

He'd found a spot between two large cylinders with a glass dome-shaped thing running overhead and a vent in the top that he thought ought to get rid of the smoke, and was now resting against some pipework as he made the most of his final hour before the ship took off and he left this planet far behind. Again, doubts about what he was doing began to try and nudge their way into his mind, but he forced them out. He'd made his choice and he was going to see it through, wherever that may lead.

Blowing a stream of smoke up towards the dome overhead, he let his thoughts drift away from Dru and Illyria and all the other things that were plaguing him and onto more immediate matters. Such as, where exactly were they going? It hadn't bothered him before now, just as long as they were going _somewhere, _but he was curious. Had the real John Hart known more about it, he wondered? Had the representative from Yutani said anything more to him before they'd both gotten killed? He supposed he'd never know.

His mind was just beginning to wander away from that when he heard the sound of something moving off to his left. There were clunking and scraping sounds as if someone was manually moving the machinery, but he doubted that Alice had gotten as far the engine room on her preliminary checks yet. Curious, he took a step out of the alcove he was sitting in to peer down the gangway between the various engine components, and was more than a little surprised to see a female figure kneeling down beside one of the cylinders with the service hatch open and peering inside. Seeming to sense him watching her, she suddenly pulled back and looked up at him, wearing a guilty expression as if she'd been caught in the act. Spike noticed she had rather unkempt black hair that reached just past her shoulders, and her dark eyes were wide in shock. He also noticed that she wasn't wearing one of the ID badges that had been issued to all of the crew.

"I don't think you're supposed to be down here, love," he said drily.

She stared at him silently for a moment, and then glanced down at the cigarette in his hand. "Right back at you."

"Maybe so, pet, but I'm not the one messing with the engines."

She scowled defensively. "I'm just checking they're working."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "Really? Because the funny thing is I don't believe you're the engineer."

Still scowling, she suddenly slammed the hatch shut and got to her feet. "I'm not. I just like to make sure they're working. Peace of mind before we take off."

"If you don't mind me saying love, paranoid much?" he taunted, thinking that was a lame excuse. If she was a crew member other than the engineer, then that seemed like an odd thing for her to be doing. Confrontationally, she took a couple of steps towards him, and as she did so he caught a whiff of her blood. It smelt so good, especially after that God-awful stuff he'd had earlier, but after years of not feeding on humans he wasn't going to break that habit now, and forced that thought to the back of his mind.

His derisive statement was met with a glare. "Piss off," she muttered defensively, "Given how little they've told us about this mission I think I'm right to be a bit wary."

"Sure you do, pet. Are you even on the crew?"

"Of course. What did you think I was? Some kind of illegal hitchhiker whose here to sabotage the mission?" she countered, sounding slightly more venomous that he thought was called for.

"No, not at all. The sneaking around the engine room without wearing an ID badge didn't arouse my suspicions in the slightest," he sniped back, causing her to scowl at his sarcasm.

"I've got a badge, I just don't wear it because I don't like everybody knowing my name before I choose to tell them."

"And are you going to tell me?"

She looked indecisive for a moment, keeping him fixed with a glare, and then she relented and seemed to decide that telling him would do no harm. "Dominie Nova, cosmological surveyor."

_The heck is that? _he found himself thinking. "Cosmo what?"

"I survey patterns and anomalies in the background radiation of the cosmos. Helps detect the paths that spacecraft have travelled," she explained rather irritably. "And what about you…" she squinted at his name badge for a moment and then finished with, "John Hart? What the hell's a paleoarchaeologist?"

Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure what the technical definition of a paleoarchaeologist was, but if she didn't know either then that wouldn't be a problem. "I dig up old stuff."

She gave him a mocking look as if that was the lamest answer he'd ever heard. "Isn't that just what regular archaeologists do?"

"Well I dig up _really _old stuff."

For a few moments she just stared at him as if that was still a completely pathetic answer, and then shook her head, deciding she couldn't be bothered to keep arguing with him. When she spoke again her tone was far less hostile. "Why would they want someone who digs up old stuff to go on a mission to some planet in the depths of the galaxy?"

He shrugged. "Beats me, love. I'm just getting paid for it."

A thoughtful look settled on her face for a moment and she bit her lips as if thinking. He watched, quite amused by it, and then she spoke again. "Don't you think that's odd though? I mean, I've spoken to three people on the crew already today and not one of them is entirely sure what the nature of this mission is. Even I don't know and I kept asking questions. They've not really told us anything. I just keep getting really vague information from everywhere. I tried reading up on the _Prometheus _mission and I can't find much info other than that they were attempting to find the origin of human life, which makes no sense considering that human life originated on Earth, and even then things don't add up."

She seemed to be in rant mode now, and actually he felt inclined to listen. The secrecy surrounding this mission had made him curious, even if he wasn't quite as suspicious as she seemed to be, but he thought he wanted to know what she'd found.

"The trip is supposed to be thirty-four point six lightyears, right?" she continued, in full flow now, "But we don't have fuel for a journey of that distance. Instead, there's enough dark matter in the reactor cells to get us three times as far as that, which would be excessive even allowing for fuel reserves." She pointed towards an array of cylinders suspended from the ceiling off to her right, which he assumed must be the fuel she'd checked earlier or something. "And that's just for getting us past the lightspeed barrier. We've got almost double the amount of antimatter than necessary for the regular engines, and then the power routing on the Casimir reactors is all fucked up." Again she pointed to something else - several wires hanging down from a black box overhead – which he had no idea what it was but she certainly seemed to. "You'd expect about seven per cent of the power output to be directed to the artificial gravity inductors in the floors," she continued, with Spike trying very hard to understand what she was saying, "but instead it's set at about three per cent with the rest being routed to the dark matter reactors. That means we've got enough spatial compression to get us to LV 223 in one year local time, not two. Then there's this wire…" She suddenly bent down to the hatch she'd been looking in again and opened it, pointing out a yellow wire on the left hand side. "That's for an additional component below the hull hooked up to the Casimir drives, so they must have another gravity stabiliser which is four times what we'd need for a planet the size of LV 223. We're overequipped for everything within the parameters of the original _Prometheus _mission, so what are they planning?"

She straightened up again and looked at him, a somewhat troubled expression on her face. He had to admit he'd barely understood a word of what she'd just said, but he understood enough to know that the ship wasn't just prepared to carry out the mission he'd been told it would. It still seemed paranoid for her to be checking out the engine just because she wanted to make sure it worked, but he was beginning to think that maybe she had a point.

"I don't know, love, but at least it's overequipped rather than underequipped. I'd rather it was that way round than the other. Maybe they're just being cautious?"

Suddenly shutting the hatch again, she shook her head, unconvinced. "I'm not buying it, Hart," she said, before biting her lip worriedly and glancing downwards, lost in her own thoughts.

He studied her face silently for a few moments, curious as to what she was thinking and what might be going on. "If it worries you so much, why did you agree to come on this mission?"

She suddenly looked up at him and met his gaze. "I was desperate," she answered simply. "Desperate for the work; desperate for the money. What about you? Why did you decide to come on a mission you know almost nothing about?"

Again, he just shrugged. "Desperation pretty much covers it, actually." He wasn't going to tell her his exact reasons but that was more or less true.

She sighed, feeling as though she could relate to him all too well on that account. "What's your story then? 'Cause I've not had a job since I let…" She trailed off slightly for a moment before resuming with, "Well, since a very long time, at any rate. Even if this does turn out bad I've got no choice other than to stick it out to the end."

He sensed that maybe the explanation she'd given was originally going to be in more detail that what she'd ended up saying, but he wasn't going to press her on it. This was the time to make use of the lie he'd been practising, Spike realised. See how much of the real John Hart's life he could pass off as his own. "I did have a job, but the last really important old thing I dug up got blown to pieces."

Like Tretter, her eyes widened when he mentioned that. "Blown to pieces? Why?"

"Some chick with blue hair didn't much like that I'd discovered it."

She stared at him for a couple of seconds as if she might be about to ask further questions, but then she shrugged. "That's rough," she muttered, and then said no more.

Realising the conversation had hit a dry spot, he dipped back into his alcove and took another drag on his almost forgotten cigarette. "That's life, pet. Doesn't always go your way, but you have to deal with what it hands you."

She watched him exhale the smoke in silence, an expression of discontent on her face, and then when he went to take a drag on it again she commented, "You know, if you're trying to avoid the smoke detectors it's no good coming down here. All that's going to happen is the smoke will get caught in the radiation filter and if it cycles up to the top of the dark matter extractor flume it'll just give a false reading on the surge control detector." She paused a moment to point to the dome above him. "And if that alarm goes off there'll be even bigger trouble than in the case of a fire. You're better off just sticking some tape over the smoke detector in your room."

He blew out a stream of smoke and then fixed his gaze on her. "Damn, when packing for a space flight I can't believe I forgot to bring my tape," he deadpanned.

She scowled at his attitude before replying harshly, "I guess that's just tough as well then, isn't it?"

Realising the cigarette had almost burnt out after he'd left it alone so long, he dropped it to the floor and crushed it underfoot, before reaching to pick it up again and dispose of the evidence. "How is it you know so much about spacecraft engineering anyway?" he asked as he looked back up at her. "Is that normal for a cosmo-whatever?"

"It's a hobby of mine," she replied coolly, clearly not impressed by him not using her correct job title.

He just smirked at her reaction. "Come on then, Cosmo Girl. Best we get out of here before Little Miss Android Shows up to do her checks."

She raised a puzzled eyebrow at him. "What?"

Realising what he'd just said, he considered trying to backtrack before deciding there was no point. "Oh, Alice is a robot, but don't tell anyone until after the briefing."

She narrowed her eyes at him and then replied, "Okay, I won't, if you promise to _never _call me 'Cosmo Girl' again."

He smirked. "Alright, love, I won't."

The insincerity of his reply was all too obvious. "I mean it, Hart. Call me that again and I'll punch you."

"Sure you will."

She glared at him icily for a moment longer, and then deciding he wasn't worth another argument she turned and stalked off. "See you around, Hart," she said frostily, leaving him alone once more as she found her way to the exit. Spike watched her go, again feeling somewhat hungry as the scent of blood faded, and then a short while later went and headed towards the exit too, deciding it was probably time to go and get ready for the journey.


	6. The Beginning of it All

_**Chapter Five – The Beginning of it All**_

_Chicago  
Three months earlier_

The door swung shut behind him as Spike entered the dingy basement apartment in downtown Chicago. He unstrapped the spring-loaded stakes from his wrists and tossed them onto the coffee table by the couch, following them up with the black leather duster which he flung over the back of a chair. The duster didn't see much wear any more. He'd moved on to other fashions as the years had passed, but every now and again he'd dig the old black coat out of his closet and wear it for the nights spent patrolling the streets, able to pretend for just a few hours that he was still living in that much simpler time. Maybe it was in a different city now, but Spike was still following the same routine: vigilante fighter fighting the hoards of the undead. Being a hero. Playing the champion. He still went along with it like he had done all those years ago, even if there was no real satisfaction in it anymore. There was no Shanshu reward he may or may not be entitled to at the end of it, no Buffy around to remind him what it was he was fighting for. He just did it because he didn't know how to do much else. Save for killing people, which wasn't really on the cards anymore.

Tonight he'd dusted no less than eight vampires: just a rabble of them, really; most likely recently turned and they obviously hadn't upgraded to daywalker status yet. They spent the nights walking the back alleys of the city looking for easy prey, before Spike had come along to finish them off. And now soon the sun would be coming up, no longer a guarantee of safety for anyone from the vampires in the city, but Spike had decided to call it a night. As much as he tried to stop himself thinking that way, he couldn't fight the sense of futility that came along with doing this. For every one person he saved there'd be a hundred more he couldn't help, but at least that was still better than doing nothing. It was either this or end up a pathetic, useless wreck living in the sewers and feeding off of rats like Angel had been the last time Spike saw him.

Heading into the kitchen, Spike crossed over to the fridge to take out a beaker of blood. Just as he was pulling away and shutting the door again, he was slightly taken by surprise to see a figure in the corner of his eye off to his right. Glancing briefly at it, his gaze fell upon the slender figure of a woman wearing a dark red body suit that clung tightly to her form, with long brown hair streaked with blue and pale, ice-cold eyes that were gazing at him intently. Spike sighed. Really, he thought, her presence here shouldn't surprise him at all.

"What do you want, Blue?" he asked, not showing much of a reaction to seeing her there and instead crossing over to put his blood in the microwave. "Amount of times you've been showing up here recently, anyone would think you're getting lonely."

He glanced over at her as he waited for the blood to heat up, and she seemed to glare at him. "The lesser beings that walk this Earth are mere specks upon the face of the planet. The very notion that I could want for their company is absurd."

Spike almost wanted to roll his eyes at her. After ninety years of demonstrating barely a tenth of the power she supposedly used to have, her superior attitude had gotten old very quickly. "Time was, you actually seemed to care for one of those 'lesser beings', as I recall," he commented, "But whatever. If you're not lonely, then just tell me what you keep coming here for, 'cause I'm tired of you showing up, saying something cryptic, and then vanishing for weeks at a time. Either tell me straight what you want, or quit bothering me." The microwave pinged and Spike took out the cup of blood before heading back into the living room, barely even looking at Illyria. There was a time she'd have gotten angry with him for that, maybe even kicked his ass for being so disrespectful, but now she just followed him. It seemed the world really had changed over the past eighty years.

"I sense a power rising," Illyria said as Spike settled himself down on the couch.

"You said that last time. I'm still none the wiser."

"Something old. And dangerous."

There was a pause in which Spike chose not to answer, still dissatisfied with her response. At length, Illyria realised he was expecting more from her, and decided to give him it. "For many months I have sensed an ancient power rising in the Earth; something trying to break through to the surface. Now it is very close. I am certain it is very near being released. And I believe it is an Old One, like myself."

At that, Spike turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised, then he smirked. "So that's what this is about, is it? You don't feel lonely, you feel _threatened. _Scared that somebody else is gonna knock you off of your non-existent top spot on the power hierarchy."

Illyria glared at him, furious at his refusal to take this seriously. "I had believed one such as yourself would be more concerned to hear such news."

He just shrugged. "You know, maybe I would've been, except that this is _your _problem. If you're so powerful, why don't you take care of it yourself?"

As he'd expected, he was met with silence. She wasn't about to admit to him she wasn't as powerful as she liked to think he was, but he'd long ago worked out why she kept coming here. She wanted to ask for his help for something, but she was just too stubborn to admit it. "No, of course you couldn't…" he began to say, but then Illyria spoke quite abruptly.

"My power is not what it once was."

He stopped talking and looked at her, mildly surprised, and then smirked again. "True enough."

That was all he said, goading her to say more, and again she glared at him in silence for several moments before finally giving in. "In this instance, your assistance would be…useful to me."

"Useful, huh? Well, I guess that's just too bad, isn't it." He may have finally got her to admit to what she really wanted from him, but that didn't mean he was going to give it to her. At this moment in time, she was probably one of the people in the world he _least _wanted to help.

Illyria's eyes flashed in anger and for a moment he wondered if she actually _would _try physically attacking him, but he realised he didn't much care. "Spike, I want your help and you will give it to me," she said in a commanding tone.

Spike turned to meet her ice-blue gaze, his own look just as hard. "What makes you think I would do _anything _to help you? After everything you've done?" he said coldly. Now they were finally getting to the crux of the matter. He may have put up with her all these years, largely due to the fact there wasn't much he could do to get rid of her, but that didn't mean he actually had to like her. Not after the role she'd played in Buffy's death.

Illyria seemed to understand what he was getting at, and it only angered her further. "The Slayer was mortal. Her death was inevitable and it is foolish of you to blame me for it," she said in a tone thick with disdain.

Spike didn't look at her, but instead just downed a gulp of blood from his cup. "Think that if you like, Blue, but it isn't going to get you any closer to getting what you want from me."

"If this power is allowed to rise, it could overrun the Earth and enslave all creatures upon it. It is pathetic of you to allow your grief for a human girl to prevent you from taking any action to stop it."

"You mean overrun the Earth like you did?" he snapped, suddenly getting up and rounding on her. "And how did that work out for you? You know, Illyria, if this thing is an Old One, it's probably just as impotent as you are. If you have issues with not being the only one of your kind anymore or can't handle the competition, then deal with it yourself, because this isn't my problem."

He downed the last of his blood from the cup then stormed back into the kitchen, but had just slammed the beaker down into the sink when he heard another voice speak from behind him. No, it was the same voice, but softer somehow. Gentler. More human. "Spike?"

Turning round, he found himself looking not into the cold blue eyes of Illyria, but instead into the warm brown ones of a young woman with long brown hair who was wearing a red blouse and black pencil skirt. Realising what she was doing, Spike shook his head. "Don't do this love, please. Just…don't. It's pathetic."

"Spike, it really is me," she said, a noticeable Texan accent to her words, "It's Fred."

"No, it isn't," he said harshly, "Fred's dead, and pretending to be her is not going to convince me. So just stop it, and get out."

She neither changed her appearance nor moved from the spot where she stood. "Spike, I know you won't do this for Illyria, but please, do it for me. Maybe it won't mean the end of the world if another Old One breaks free, or perhaps it might do, but either way it means someone else is going to have to go through what I went through. Whoever finds that sarcophagus and tries to open it is going to spend days in agony while their insides liquefy and they become possessed by the spirit of an Elder God. Don't let that happen, please."

"Fred…" He'd used her name before he could stop himself. As much as he was trying to tell himself it wasn't really her, she was really convincing. "Why me?" he asked her, feeling conflicted and beginning to doubt his resolution to not help her. "After everything, why would Illyria come to me for help?"

"Because you're the only person left she can trust," Fred answered.

Spike shook his head, unsure what to make of that. "But why? What does she expect me to do?"

"There's a man digging in Mexico. His name's John Hart. He's close to uncovering a sarcophagus; one of the ones that used to be in the Deeper Well before Drogyn died and they began to drift through the Earth. She wants you to stop him before he reaches it."

A deeply conflicted look settled on his face. He wasn't sure whether to listen to her, or if he ought to put his personal feelings aside and help her anyway. "How do I know it's really Fred I'm talking to? How do I know you aren't just lying to me to get what you want, Illyria?"

"Does it matter?" she answered, and Spike glanced at the floor as he understood her point. "I'm not dead, Spike, never have been. She's kept me suppressed all these years but sometimes I can make it through to the surface. But I'm not the one that's important – whether it's me or Illyria saying this, there's a man about to dig up a deadly force that's going to kill him in the most brutal way possible. You can do something about it."

He continued to stare downwards, doing anything to avoid looking into those warm brown eyes he remembered all too well. "Okay," he said at length, "Maybe I will do something to help you stop it. But I'm not doing it for you, Illyria. I'm not even doing it for this John Hart guy. I'm doing it for Fred – whether that's Fred actual or just the memory of her. I owe her that much."

As at last he agreed, he heard her mutter, "Thank you." Finally getting up the courage to meet her gaze, he looked up into her eyes and felt a chill pass through him as he saw none of the human warmth that he remembered being there, but instead just the cold hardness of the Elder God that really inhabited this shell. He'd been fooled, he knew. Fred wasn't there. Never had been. But it didn't matter. He'd agreed to it now, and if this was the right thing for him to do, then he was damn well going to see that it was done.


End file.
